


Lo Siento

by creivel



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creivel/pseuds/creivel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joaquin could not be hurt, but this pain was worse than any injury could cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lo Siento

He doesn’t know what it’s like to experience injury, to feel pain.

Since he was young, the medal had protected him without fail— had ensured his skin would never break and his blood would never be spilled in the line of duty.

He’d seen what injury had done to his men, and had watched more than come apart at the seams and dissolve into a blubbering mess when flesh was torn from bone after a particularly rough fight. He’d seen others lose limbs entirely, be forced, broken, back to civilian life (if they survived the journey back to town). He’d seen the worst of it, but was never once was put truly in harm’s way, and never had to taste the awful bite of pain for himself.

No, he doesn’t know what it’s like to have wounds, but, Joaquin thinks, the gaping ache in his chest was likely worse than any physical damage he could possibly sustain.

It’s not a sharp pain, not like what he remembers from the scraped knees and stubbed toes of his childhood. This pain is dull and raw, blossoming from his center and devouring him from the inside out. It’s too intense for words, choking the breath from him, turning his blood cold, and sending him stumbling over his own feet.

He struggles forward and down the road, moving step by painful step (though he is an entire person lighter now, his body feels heavier than ever) back to where Maria rests. Though she had only just awakened from the grip of death less than an hour prior, Joaquin doubts he’ll be able to look her in the eye.

He knows she won’t be able to, either, if she knew what had happened between himself and Manolo (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it) while she slept.

“ _It should have been me.”_

“ _Yes, it should have.”_

I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t—

Maria’s father looks more than happy to see him when he arrives, and Joaquin feels ill in response. He doesn’t deserve the praise the man showers him with. He has failed both of his friends in their times of need, and may have resulted in Manolo’s—

“Joaquin? Joaquin, are you alright?” Someone asks, and he’s not paying attention to whom, because Joaquin is slumped against the wall with his face in his hand, other arm struggling to keep him from falling onto the floor.

He’s not alright. The guilt and agony are eating him alive and Joaquin doesn’t know how he’s going to cope, nevertheless how he’s going to tell Maria about the events of that day without breaking into pieces. He’d supposed to be the hero, the strong one, and protect those who can’t. He’s supposed to save the day.

The stairs creak under his boots and his hands are shaking on the rail as he makes his way up towards Maria’s room.

She is expecting him, and beams at him for only a fraction of a second before seeing his face, hers twisting into one of pure anxiety.

“Joaquin?” She tries, softly, and Joaquin can tell he’s splintering at the edges already, threatening to shatter under her gaze. “Joaquin, what’s wrong?”

Everything, he wants to say. He made the biggest of mistakes, failed his most important role. He is unworthy of his title and his medals and he wishes, just wishes, that he could go back and trade places with Manolo (who needed him more than ever, and Joaquin was blind, so, so blind).

But he can’t go back, and he can’t undo Manolo’s death.

Maria is watching him, concern written clear across her features. She repeats his name but it’s lost under white noise in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can manage out loud, but the one Joaquin wants to say it to is no longer there.


End file.
